


What is and What Never Could Be

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Supernatural/Batman fusions. [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural AU: After a run in with a djinn, Bruce is living in a dream world. No Batman, no crime. But not all dreams stay dreams. Some turn into nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is and What Never Could Be

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Character Deaths (Fake (also note that none of them are Damian- kid’s been though enough recently), violence, creepiness, depression, possible suicide if you look at one scene one way (but you’d really have to squint).
> 
> Blueprint for this fic is the Supernatural episode "What is and Never Should Be"

_A dream is a wish your heart makes,_

_That a genie may decide to keep._

_Beware of wish granters, child,_

_Or you might never wake from your sleep._

                Bruce Wayne woke up with a kitten on his lap and newsprint on his face. The kitten let out a little mew, scampering off his lap and vanishing out the door into the hall. Bruce wiped the ink off his face, damn newspapers, and brushed the loose cat hair on his black pants off.

                Damian had to stop bringing cats home. Wayne manor was big, but that didn’t mean that Bruce was ready to open an animal shelter.

                He coughed, taking a long swig of his coffee.  He pushed the newspaper to the side, the front page landing face down in the garbage bin and turned to his laptop. Work, he had work to do. Stock prices to check. On the front of his homepage was a small tabloid headline, a picture of Cassandra trying to cover her face. The headline below was in bold.

                “Wayne heir pregnant?”

                Alright, work could wait. Bruce dug into his suit pocket for his cell phone, hitting the number four for Cassandra’s speed dial. He rested it down on the office table, pressing the speakerphone button, and the ring echoed throughout the room. At last Cassandra picked up.

                “It’s not true,” she said, her voice clipped and a little rushed. Bruce allowed himself to smile slightly, and leaned back in his chair.

                “I figured that much already; you wouldn’t dare to tell anyone before Alfred. I was just wondering if you wanted to press a libel lawsuit, that’s all.”

                There was a pause. “Depends. Who’s the source and who’s the hypothetical father?”

                Bruce opened the article scanning it. “Gotham Gossip and Conner Kent it seems.”

                “Not worth it.”

                “Are you sure? I have a lawyer on speed dial,” Bruce cracked his knuckles loudly enough that they could be heard over the line. Cassandra laughed, a quiet noise that was hard to hear.

                “I’m sure. Is there anything else?”

                Bruce reached for his phone, scanning his calendar. “Alfred wanted me to remind you to be on time for dinner Saturday.  He also would like it if you left your schoolwork at your dorm to set a good example for Tim.”

                “I’ll sneak it in.” There was a muffled sound over the phone before the line broke off again. “I have to study. Goodnight Dad.”

                “Goodnight.” The phone clicked off with an audible beep and Bruce tucked it back in his pocket. He turned back to his computer, sending off a quick email to his parents who lived in New York, before looking at Wayne industries stability. He had a company to maintain.

                Outside in the city night, no bat signal shone in the sky. In fact, one had never shone there at all.

***

                 _“Genies? We’re talkin’ Aladdin like genies? Does this mean I can wish that Replacement gets a sense of humor?”_

_“Jason!”_

_“Be serious. And yes, genies, though much bloodier than recent movies would have you believe.”_

_“So no making wishes come true? Damn.”_

_“I never said that.”_

***

                Bruce sometimes wished his children had chosen different professions.

                It wasn’t that he wasn’t proud; he was damn proud to be honest. It was just that in Gotham, being a cop was like enlisting in the army. And while Bruce had plenty of faith in his son, he had less faith in the Gotham police Kevlar budget.

                Donations from the Wayne family after local shootings had become almost expected by the GCPD.

                “Next they’ll be saying that Babs and I eloped in the Congo or something,” Dick said, snorting at the headline on the front of the Gotham Gossip. “Or that Tim is gay for the, I don’t know, twentieth time. They got to start getting more creative. ”

                “Dick,” Bruce said, holding up his hand. Dick was sitting across from him in the small coffee shop on 5th, the mid rush crowd gawking through the window. Dick was still in his cop uniform,  badge sparkling on the front. “I thought you had something to tell me.”

                “Patience young billionaire,” Dick said, balancing one of the creamers on his pinkie. You could take the boy from the circus but you couldn’t take the circus out of the boy. “I’m actually getting there. First off, guess who made sergeant.”

                Bruce’s expression didn’t change at all, a lifetime of doing business did that, but his eyebrow twitched slightly. “Congratulations.”

                “I can feel your approval radiating through the room. Tone it down, B.” He flipped the coffee creamer in the air, catching it on the tip of his pointer finger. “Gordon was really impressed with my last case, so I managed to get a promotion.  And…” Dick dropped the creamer reaching into his pocket. “Well, I thought I might as well get on with it, while I was in his good graces.” Dick tilted to the crowd outside couldn’t see, lifting a ring box out of his pocket before dropping it back. Bruce, to those who knew him, looked a little shell-shocked.

                “When?”

                “This Saturday. Thought the whole family should be there.” He shrugged. “I figured Alfred wouldn’t mind.”

                Bruce smiled. “I think he’ll let the disruption slide.” Dick checked his phone, and rolled his eyes.

                “I got to go in a few. Is Jason going to be able to make it to dinner, or do I need to tell him too as a bribe?”

                “Jason will be there.” Jason had been working as a fireman, another dangerous job to Bruce’s utter dismay. “Alfred is making pie.”

                “Now that’s just flat out bribery,” Dick said, brushing off his pants and standing up. “I got to get back to work, so I’ll see you Saturday.”

                Bruce got up as well, pulling his surprised son into a hug. “Congratulations Dick.”

                Dick pulled back, laughing. “A hug? She hasn’t even said yes, yet!”

                 The two talked for a few more moments before Dick left to get back on his beat. Bruce shrugged on his jacket, walking out of the coffee shop. Halfway down the street a small girl ran up to him, holding out an apple.

                “No thanks,” Bruce said. The girl was dressed in all blue, her eyes a bright green. She tilted her head, and placed the apple firmly in Bruce’s hands.

                “You should wake up. It’s all going to break soon.” She ran off, leaving Bruce in the middle of the street, the red apple in his hands.

                It took him a minute to realize that is was completely rotten.

***

_“You’re sure you should take this case alone, Bruce?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“It’s gotten five people already, one of them a kid. You could be in over your head. It’s old magic.”_

_“I don’t need your help, Dick. I can handle this.”_

_“…You always say that.”_

***

                While he would never admit it, if Stephanie didn’t have a living relative left, Bruce would have adopted her on the spot.

“Bruce!” The cheerful blond threw her arms around the man, squeezing hard. Bruce patted her back until she released her hold. Behind her was Tim and Cassandra, both looking as overworked as usual. Stephanie was good for them; she made them take a break once and while. “Where’s Damian?”

            “Be gone, Brown.” A voice called from the hall and Stephanie bounded off in the direction of the sullen pre-teen. Cassandra gave her father a hug as well, before following after her bubbly best friend. Tim stood in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, another holding his phone.

            “Tim.” Bruce plucked the device out of the teen’s hands, placing it on the counter. “Your videogame can wait for one hour.”

            “But-“ Tim reached for the device, quickly giving up to pout instead. “I eed to beat this level.”

            “Which you will, Master Timothy. But not after having dinner,” Alfred walked in, grabbing the teen by his collar and pulling him towards the kitchen. “How about you help me prepare and tell me about your Freshmen year at college.”

            Tim’s protests grew softer as he was dragged out of sight. There was a laugh from the doorway and Bruce turned to find Jason there, soot on his face, a fire helmet under his arm.

            “I need to teach Replacement how to have fun sometime. Why can’t I take him out sometime?” He turned to Bruce, smirking.

            “Because you’re bound to be a bad influence and get him drunk.” Bruce pointed upstairs. “Wash up before Alfred sees you.”

            Jason held up his hands. “I got tied up at work; I would never try to face Alfred’s wrath on purpose. I’ll make myself look like a human being and make sure to track some on the rug.” Before Bruce could say anything, he scurried off in the direction of his old room. Jason had matured a lot since he was a kid, but he still had that rebel streak in him.

            An hour later, dinner got started. Tim sat wedged between Jason and Stephanie who seemed determined to make him blush at every possible moment. Barbara arrived a few minutes late, she got held up at the office, and told them that Dick had to wrap up some work and would be later than he thought. Damian demanded the best helping of pork; Tim demanded the largest spoonful of mashed potatoes. Alfred seemed to wince when Jason applied an obscene amount of butter to the fresh baked rolls. An hour into the proceedings, the children were arguing baby names for Cassandra’s hypothetical child.

            “Just don’t name him Richard. Whatever you do, don’t name him Richard,” Jason said, leaning across the table. “The nicknames Dick got in middle school were enough to make me wince.”

            “I think Alexander is an acceptable name,” Damian said, perched on his chair like a prince. Tim stuffed another bite of ham into his mouth.

            “If you want the kid to have an ego the size of the brat over here,” he said through muffled chewing noises. Bruce’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he stood up, heading for the hall outside.

            “Bruce Wayne. I’m currently busy could you-“

            “Mr. Wayne,” Bruce paused in the middle of his speech, recognizing the voice on the other line.

            “Gordon?” The silence confirmed it. “Do you need to speak to Barbara?”

            “No.” Gordon’s voice was raw. Bruce was reminded of a sinking feeling, close to that many years ago when his parents were almost killed outside a theater in crime ally. “I’m afraid this isn’t a personal call. There was an incident. A drug raid gone bad. Dick-“

            “Where is he?” The voice that had Bruce had perfected to scare many a potential business dealer kicked in. “What hospital? I’ll be there as-“

            “Bruce.” Gordon’s tone was soft. It reminded Bruce of something, something he had heard before, something hazy. Why did this feel familiar. “Dick’s dead.”

            The world blurred, rotted and crashed into a million pieces.

***

_“Oh christ, Boss. Boss! Boss fucking wake up.”_

_“Is Father awake ye-Father, I demand you open your eyes now. Father, this is unacceptable. Father!”_

_“Kid, stay back, I got to cut him down.”_

_“Father!”_

_***_

            Bruce remembered the last time he identified the body of a Flying Grayson. Dick’s parents had died in a trapeze accident that had gone wrong when he was little. It was gruesome, horribly gruesome, and Bruce was reminded what could have been years ago. It was part of the reason he took Dick in.

            Looking down at his son’s hollow dead eyes, a gunshot wound right in the center of his forehead, all he could see was the eight year old boy who used to do flips down the stairs.

            “Bruce,” Clark Kent tried to place his hand on the man’s shoulder, but Bruce shrugged him off. So much for emotional support. Gordon looked at the man, his face furrowed.

            “It’s him,” Bruce said, his voice perfectly steady. “It’s him.” He turned around on his heel, leaving the two men alone in the morgue along with the body of Dick Grayson. He strode down the hallway of the GCPD, vanishing into one of the bathrooms.

            “I told you it would go bad,” Bruce turned around, finding the same girl that he had seen the week before looking at him from the mirror. “Wishes are tainted you know.”

            The sound of the mirror shattering was enough to send half of the police department rushing downstairs.

***

_“How do we get him to snap out of it?”_

_“He has to do it himself, Tim.”_

_“What if he doesn’t want to?”_

_“Of course he wants to Tim. What makes you say that?”_

_“Because if I were in his place? I wouldn’t want to either.”_

***

            Bruce was barely able to make it to Dick’s funeral. He spent it staring off into space before collapsing in a heap in his room.

            “Bruce,” Tim said, shaking the man’s shoulder. “Bruce you need to get up. We…we miss him too.”

            Bruce doesn’t stir.

            “He was your son; we know that. But, Bruce, he was our big brother too. We need you right now. They want someone to give the speech at the Police ceremony, and no one else can do it except you. I don’t think I can-“

            “Give the damn speech,  Tim. “ Tim recoiled away from the bed, his eyes wide. His grip on the paper in his hand grew tighter, his breath faster.

            Tim went to give the speech. He died in a hit and run on the way back home.

            Bruce couldn’t even get out of bed for his funeral.

***

_“He should wake up soon.”_

_“If the books are right. Genie wishes go bad after a while. Sooner or later he’s going to snap out of it.”_

_“Go bad? What does that mean?”_

_“God only knows, Cass. God only knows.”_

_***_

            It was after Jason died in an explosion on the west side while trying to save a woman named Catharine that the girl finally showed up.

            Bruce held her at gunpoint.

            “It’s a choice,” she said, swinging her legs from a chair too tall from her. “You wanted your parents alive, and they’re alive. But that requires a trade-off.  You give, I take; that’s how it works.”

            “Two lives for three? How is that a fair trade?” The gun wobbled in Bruce’s hand.

            “It isn’t measured in lives.” The girl reached for a penknife on the desk, twirling it in her hands. “You lost your parents, but from that loss you gained your children. A new family.” She tossed the knife up, catching it again. “But if you want your parents, I have to take away your children.”

            “You won’t touch them,” the trademark hunter snarl had returned. The girl shook her head.

            “I can’t stop it. Damian will be mugged in an alley. Cassandra will die at her father’s hands after he comes to the manor wanting to take her back in” The girl looked at the watch. “Six hours. Stephanie is already nursing an incurable heart problem. Barbara will lose her legs once more in a car wreck. Alfred-”

            “Enough.” The safety clicked as it was released. “How do I fix it? How does everything go back to normal.”

            The girl pointed to the large painting of his parents on one wall, and then a recent photo on his desk. “You choose. Reality or this? A family of blood or a family of just bond.” She spun the knife. “Which one?’

            There was a pause. Bruce glanced up at the picture of his parents, both of them smiling in their late 60’s, wrinkles and all. Then he turned back to the girl.

            “Give them back.”

            “So be it.”

            He didn’t see the knife coming at him until she had already thrown it.  

            Lying on a cot in a safe house outside of Kentucky, Bruce Wayne woke up with a gasp.  

***

            “You’re actually taking time to recover,” Dick said, placing a table tray right next to Bruce’s bed. The older man was on his laptop, looking from current news to try to find a demon or a hunt. “Maybe the genie did grant a wish after all.”

            “I doubt it.” Bruce clicked at the keys a few more times, scrolling a few more blogs. Dick stood by his side, hands folded, rocking on his heels.

            “So you’re still not going to tell us what you saw, huh?”

            Bruce made a point not to stare at his son’s unscarred forehead. “No.”

            “And there goes our Friday night entertainment, I guess,” Dick walked towards the door, reaching for the handle. “Any last words before I vanish to help Damian with his aim?”

            Bruce looked up from his laptop. He opened his mouth, his face looking open for once, before closing his mouth once more. He took a deep breath.

            “Tell everyone to be here next Saturday night.”

Dick stared. “Why? Found a big job or something?

            “Dinner.” Bruce turned back to his computer, typing in a few more words on his desktop screen. Dick gaped at the man for a few moments, before shaking his head and walking downstairs.

            A family dinner? Now that was going to be something.  


End file.
